Under an oak tree
by
Roger Crique
(Age: 52)
copyright 06-29-2005
Age Rating: 10 to 127
Under an oak tree I play;
strumming my lyre, as I die, ever so slowly.
The strings resonate in my heart;
and move my soul to tears.
My fingers bleed with every note I play.
My existence shatters when I play your favorite song.
One we were, under this oak tree.
We discovered love under its shade.
So I keep on strumming, looking for you!
until I find the notes that brought a smile to your face. Your head upon my shoulder I sense, when I feel a gentle breeze approaching. The clouds I search; wondering where you are.
In which crater does the Moon shelters you?
The stars resemble diamonds to me;
those sparkling diamonds that once were your eyes.
Will you ever return to me? Will I ever see you again?
How long till I hear your calling? Call my name, for I cannot continue! I'll wait for you tonight. Tonight I will meet you again, under this oak tree. I'll sit here and wait; brushing away the tears, until you return to me, riding on a rainbow.
Under this oak tree our innocence grew; your name has not faded from its trunk. My lyre I will play, until my fingers and my heart bleed to death. Then, perhaps, you will come and take my hand!
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Down by river is a huge oak tree!
Play that guitar like you mean it
Play that guitar c'mon let me feel
Where are all these people with all these emotions
across the seas across the oceans?
Teach me how to feel for them
let me be the one they need
When the sun goes down and the moon comes out to play you think I'd be tired by the end of the day
But to go to sleep in a bed that was meant for two
I can't, I refuse, I quit, I'm trough.
Now I lay me down, to sleep,
I pray the Lord, a soul to keep
Just the feel of the human touch
like a hug and a kiss and things as such
Can you feel me, where are you
find me, I love you
Roger, you have created a very poignant portrait of lost love. The use of the lyre, an instrument of long ago story-tellers and poets, is very fitting here and adds to the ageless, overall feel of the poem while providing the imagination with the haunting strains of a sad melody. Even though, there is an area or two that could be less awkward, this poem is, overall, a timeless ode to unbearable sadness. I don't know if it is the lyre or something else, but every time I've read this, I go away thinking of "Greensleeves".
Welcome !
